Reading the Punches
by elbcw
Summary: Fabron, who was still standing in front of him, punched him hard in the stomach. The shock of the assault left Aramis reeling. A tiny thought in his mind told him he should not have let it happen. He should have been ready for it. As he was pushed to the ground he had to admit they had come up with a good plan. Unable to defend himself, Aramis wondered how far the cadets would go.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note: This is set pre series. It only features Aramis, Porthos and Treville. It is an imagining of how Aramis and Porthos became friends. There is racism and classism. **

**Prologue**

Porthos paused. He could tell the soldiers were not doing what they should have been. Falling back on his time in the Court, his court, not the Royal Court, Porthos melted into the background. The soldiers would not know he was there, even if they were to look directly at him. He was still and quiet. And he listened.

What he heard made his blood run cold. For several seconds he had to remind himself to be motionless. If he moved, he would give himself away and his friend would be in danger. If he waited until the men were gone, he knew he stood a chance of saving his friend. He hoped and prayed that the lessons were about to pay off.

MMMM

**Chapter One**

He knew that being a cadet was going to be tough. Being a cadet in a relatively new regiment was even tougher, they all had something to prove. And he was the only dark-skinned cadet who also had, what some would say, was a bad upbringing.

Porthos knew he was in for a hard time.

They would not all get their commission, he knew that. He hoped the men that did not get their commissions would be the ones that were with him at that moment. The ones that were tormenting him. He had nothing to be ashamed of, there were more people who could not read and write than there were ones that could. Literacy was something the upper classes enjoyed. The tradesmen, the nobles, the well to do. Not the infantryman. He had not needed to be able to read and write to fire a gun or wield a sword during a melee.

But now that he was training to be a Musketeer his lack of ability was showing. Treville had assured him that it would make no difference. The Captain wanted the best men for the job, and he had told Porthos that he was more intelligent than most of the young nobles that were trying to get into the elite regiment. The nobles might have known their words and could write poetry, but they could not change tactic mid-battle, they had not learned the art of anticipating the enemies moves. Porthos already had those skills, the useful ones.

Porthos wondered if Treville should tell the group of soldiers in front of him what he had told him in those first few days. He doubted it would make a difference.

'What if you receive written orders? Are you going to go to the enemy and ask them to read it for you?'

Deschamps, the leader of the group of cadets, was taking great delight in the jeers and encouragement he was getting from the other young men. The dark blond had his gun in one hand and a cloth in the other. They had been sat outside the armoury cleaning the weapons when the conversation had turned to education. It had not taken them long to get Porthos to admit to not being able to read and write. The jibes had quickly followed with Deschamps egging his little group on.

Porthos wondered what it was like to be popular. Descamps came from money; he had quickly established a gang of cadets around him. They would go out in the evening, drinking, they were all doing fairly well in their training and they were all of noble stock.

'Pickpockets don't need to be able to read though do they,' said Chevrolet, a shorter stockier man who packed a punch when they practised their brawling.

Porthos did not reply, he quietly continued with his work. He wanted the guns he was cleaning to be finished. Then he could walk away. He would not leave the job half done just to get away from the men and their teasing remarks.

'Poor orphaned Porthos,' said Deschamps, 'I bet Treville has only got him here so that he can dismiss him as a lesson that the poor don't belong.'

'Yeah,' joined in Fabron, 'not everyone will get a commission, Treville probably gets some men in just to fill the numbers up so that he can concentrate on the best.'

Porthos could not help himself, he had put up with the remarks for as long as he could, he slowly put the gun he was holding down. He took a breath. He tried to think of some witty comeback but could not. He could not really think of anything at that moment. All he really wanted to do was flatten the other cadets. He swung his legs over the bench and stood up.

'Off to read a book in the quiet?' asked Deschamps, 'oh no… you can't can you? 'Cos you're an imbecile. I bet even if your mother had lived, she wouldn't have been able to teach you anything, probably as thick as-.'

Deschamps did not get a chance to finish his sentence. Porthos did not care to hear any more of what the man had to say. As Deschamps crashed to the ground, his frilled shirt getting covered in dust and gun oil Porthos felt the first pang of satisfaction for a long time.

The victory was short-lived. Porthos had barely unclenched his fist when a yell from behind him told him he was probably never going to get his commission. The Captain had seen him hit Deschamps.

'You do not strike a fellow soldier,' said Treville as he marched towards them.

Porthos sighed, he turned to look at the angry man. Treville, who had been nothing but kind to him since his arrival looked livid. Porthos knew he had let his Captain down. Treville had probably taken some jibes of his own for letting the low born infantryman into the regiment. Porthos was not the only man from the lower classes, but he was the only one who had been brought up in the Court of Miracles. Porthos would forever be identified by his background. He could not escape it.

'There are stables that need mucking out,' said Treville, who was standing very close to him.

Despite having to look up slightly, Treville was very much the dominant man at that moment. Porthos knew better than to try to talk his way out of the punishment. The rest of the cadets would just deny that Deschamps had provoked him. He looked down for a few seconds before walking away, undoing his doublet as he went. He hung the jacket outside the stable and without looking back at the armoury and his tormentors he stepped inside.

MMMM

Treville looked up as Aramis hovered by the open door, he smiled and beckoned the young Musketeer in. He welcomed a distraction from the report he was writing, and Aramis had promised to update him on the cadet's progress with marksmanship.

'And how are they doing?' Treville asked with a nod to a chair on the other side of his desk.

Aramis glanced behind him before venturing further into the room, he did not take the indicated seat.

'Captain, I think you've punished the wrong man.'

Treville furrowed his brow trying to work out what Aramis meant.

'Just now, I didn't want to say anything in front of the cadets. But they provoked Porthos. They'd been teasing him for some time. I was just about to put a stop to it… when. When Porthos put a stop to it himself.'

Treville sighed, 'why didn't he say anything then?'

'Because he's used to it?' suggested Aramis, 'I know you handpicked him from the infantry, and you've rightly been showing him no favours since then. He doesn't know any different. Captain, he put up with the teasing… bullying… for a long time before he reacted... Longer than I would have.'

The Musketeer Captain looked down at his report for a few seconds as he considered what Aramis had said.

'I'll talk to the cadets,' he said. 'I just hope I don't make it worse for him.'

'Thank you, Captain,' said Aramis.

'But I think Porthos should finish in the stables. He did strike a fellow cadet. He could have just walked away.'

Aramis nodded, although Treville could tell the soldier did not approve. He wondered what had been said that finally pushed the quiet cadet over the edge. It was obviously something that had equally annoyed Aramis.

'Now that that is settled, let's have your report on their shooting.'

MMMM

Aramis finished his inventory. All the guns were back where they should be and the swords were in place and mostly correctly stored. The cadets had done well with their weapons maintenance. At least the ones that had been allowed to complete their session of cleaning and polishing. Aramis hid a smile as he remembered Treville sending Deschamps and his cronies to scrub the floors in the infirmary and the mess. The men had complained and grumbled but been told in no uncertain terms that if they were caught bullying any other cadet, not just Porthos, they would be thrown out with no letter of recommendation for any other garrison in Paris.

After a final glance around the now tidy armoury, Aramis closed the door and walked across the yard. The cadets were emerging from the infirmary after completing their punishment. Deschamps was rolling the kinks from his shoulders, Fabron rubbed at the small of his back. They were moaning about the injustice, grumbling that they should not have been punished for what Porthos had done. Aramis wanted to tell the younger men exactly what he thought of them, but he decided against the move. He did not want to make it worse for Porthos. The last thing the cadet needed was for a commissioned man to be seen to defend him, it could be misconstrued as favouritism.

No, Aramis decided to let the matter drop. He walked past the cadets and out of the garrison yard, intending to get a quiet meal with the Captain in the tavern by the river before retiring to bed. Supervising cadets was tiring work, he had decided quite early on that he preferred standing guard duty to taking his turn with the slightly younger men's training.

Treville had invited a few of the commissioned men to the tavern to thank them for their work. The meals with the Captain were never raucous, the Musketeers generally swapped war stories over their food and listened to Treville talk about how much conditions had changed for the better since he was a mere soldier. The evenings were relaxed, something Aramis was looking forward to.

The quieter streets leading to the river gave Aramis a chance to hear the threat before he saw it. The approaching, hurried footsteps made him turn to look behind him. As a soldier, he was always on his guard, but he was not expecting to be confronted by a group of angry-looking cadets.

Deschamps, one hand on his hip, the other resting threateningly over his gun looked at Aramis with a piercing stare.

'What do you want?' asked Aramis, who could not work out why the men were trying to surround him.

He took a couple of steps back, slightly annoyed with himself for feeling intimidated by a group of men who were his juniors in the garrison. But Aramis had to remind himself, there were five of them and a couple of them were taller and broader than he was.

'You told Treville what happened,' said Deschamps.

The pieces fell into place for Aramis. He realised the cadets had watched him walk into Treville's office after the incident with Porthos. They had worked out that he had overheard the whole conversation from the armoury where he had been fixing a couple of muskets as the cadets worked on their weapons.

'Yes, I told Treville,' said Aramis. 'I'll ask you again. What do you want?'

It was Chevrolet who stepped forward, Aramis had taken an instant dislike to the short man, almost as soon as he had turned up to start his training. He was frequently telling the cadets about his trips to visit the whores and how rough he was with them. He thought he was better than everyone else.

The short man stopped in front of Aramis, looking up at him a sneer playing on his lips.

'We want you to keep out of the way-'

'You're all cadets,' said Aramis with a shake of his head, 'I'm training you.'

'You're only a couple of years older than us,' said Deschamps.

'You're the same age as me,' remarked Chevrolet with another sneer.

'That does not make a difference,' said Aramis, who was starting to wonder how he was going to calm the worked-up men down.

'But the most important thing we know,' said Fabron, 'is that you're the same as him. You're a nothing as well.'

Aramis looked between the men without comprehending what they meant. If they were implying that he could not read and write, they were wrong.

'We know that you were born in a brothel,' said one of the other men who was standing beside Deschamps. 'We know your whore of a mother must have told one of her clients that you were his son so that he took you away before you had to start selling yourself.'

Aramis stared at the man, he wondered how they had found out about his own upbringing. It certainly was not something he talked about. He was not ashamed, but he knew it would not be looked on favourably by the Palace to have him there, mixing with the Royal family.

'My father traded with the D'Herblay's,' continued the cadet with a grin. 'We know all about you…'

Aramis took a step forward, he instantly regretted allowing himself to become distracted. Fabron, who was still standing in front of him, punched him hard in the stomach. Aramis could not help doubling over, giving the cadet the perfect chance to knee him in the face. The shock of the assault left Aramis reeling. A tiny thought in his mind told him he should not have let it happen. He should have been ready for it, but the cadets had planned ahead, they had known exactly when to drop in their trump card. As he was pushed to the ground, he had to admit they had come up with a good plan. Fabron wasted no time, he kicked Aramis twice. Catching his arms and chest, knocking the air out of him. Unable to defend himself Aramis screwed his eyes shut, wondering how far the cadets would go.

MMMM

**Authors note: You already know this but… Porthos implies in The Homecoming that he could not read or write whilst living in the Court of Miracle. Aramis reveals to d'Artagnan that he lived in a brothel as a child in The Queen's Diamond. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

No third kick landed. He managed to take a breath and open his eyes. He was stunned to see the five cadets backing away. Porthos was standing in front of him, his weapons all holstered, only his fists up in front of him. Fabron, the only one of the attackers that would stand a chance against the cadet looked as though he was thinking about stepping forward but stopped, he was looking beyond Porthos and Aramis, a shocked expression on his face.

'Take all five of them back to the garrison. I will deal with them when I get there.'

Aramis managed to push himself up to his elbows as three of the commissioned men walked past him and ushered the worried-looking cadets away. Porthos remained where he was, his defensive stance not dropping until the cadets had been taken around the bend in the road.

Treville appeared beside Aramis, one hand on his shoulder one on his arm, helping him up. Aramis winced as he tried to straighten up. Treville guided him a few steps back and pushed him down to sit on a low wall, looking at him with concern.

'I'll be fine, Captain,' he said.

Treville nodded, 'I will be the judge of that. I just watched you get beaten to the ground and kicked. Fabron was about to stamp on your head when Porthos pushed him away.'

Aramis looked towards the cadet who was standing a few feet away, clearly unsure what he should do.

'Thank you,' said Aramis before coughing a couple of times.

Treville beckoned Porthos towards them.

'See him back to the garrison and deal with his injuries. You've had your basic training in the infirmary you can practice on your teacher.'

'It's nothing, Captain.'

Aramis saw the look on the Captain's face and knew he would not win the argument.

'You are lucky Porthos turned up, we were too far along the street to stop them. Why are you here?'

Porthos looked a little guilty, 'I...er...I followed them. I saw them following Aramis from the garrison. I just wanted to make sure they didn't do… what they did. Sorry I wasn't quicker.'

'Why did you think they would attack me?'

Porthos' look of guilt had not left his face, 'I overheard them talking about your background and how they thought you were helping me because we're the same.'

Treville shook his head and sighed, 'I told them all when they signed on as cadets that class means nothing in my garrison. A person's background does not make the person.'

Treville offered his hand to Aramis who allowed himself to be helped up to stand. Porthos moved to stand beside him.

'They will all be dismissed, I told them that if they caused any more problems they would have to go. They have proved that they cannot be Musketeers.'

Treville walked ahead of them, disappearing as he made his way back to the garrison. Aramis guessed the young men would be told to leave as soon as he got back.

'You really don't have to stay with me, Porthos, I can walk back on my own.'

'Captain gave an order, and I follow orders.' Porthos managed a smile, 'besides I'm not convinced you would make it back without keeling over.'

Aramis shrugged his shoulders as he started to walk back along the quiet road. Porthos fell into step beside him. A companionable silence fell between them.

There was no sign of the cadets when they reached the garrison. The lights were on in the infirmary and water and cloths had been laid out. Treville had obviously thought ahead. Aramis was glad to sit down at the table. Porthos paused, looking at the neatly arranged items on the table.

'You know what to do, you were about the only cadet paying proper attention to my lessons in here,' said Aramis as he started to undo his doublet.

As Porthos helped him out of the jacket and pulled his shirt loose Aramis noticed a look of melancholy on his face. Porthos realised he was being watched as he gently felt Aramis' ribs as he had been shown to.

'I was thinking that I'll have to put up with those comments all my life. I know it's not unusual, but it does make me stand out...even more, in this garrison. Most of you are nobles and have an education.'

'I'm not a noble,' said Aramis quietly.

Porthos paused, 'I heard what they said… Is it true?'

Aramis nodded before looking away, 'well not all of it. My mother did work in a brothel and I am the son of one of her...customers. But I was brought up by him. Educated by him. But I was not brought up as his son. I'm illegitimate-'

He paused when he saw Porthos lips quirk. He could not work out what was funny.

'You're illegitimate. I'm illiterate.'

Aramis nodded his understanding, he laughed, quickly realising his mistake as the bruising from the kicks to his chest made themselves known. Porthos steadied him until he could keep himself upright and had opened his eyes again.

'You're also rubbish at fighting,' remarked Porthos with a smile.

Aramis nodded, 'never been my strong point. I don't tend to get close enough to need to employ my fists.'

Porthos cleaned the grazes to Aramis' arms and face before mixing a pain killer from the bottles in the cupboard. Aramis was impressed.

'How did you know which of the bottles to use to make that?' he asked.

Porthos looked a little embarrassed, 'I remembered the shapes of the words on them. I've a good memory.'

A thought occurred to Aramis as Porthos finished making the painkiller and handed the cup to him.

'Would you like me to teach you?'

Porthos looked at him blankly.

'To read. And write?'

The cadet did not respond.

'We don't need to tell anyone…'

Porthos still did not respond, he looked down. Aramis wondered how he could get the man to understand that he was not offering out of pity.

'In payment,' said Aramis after a few seconds, 'perhaps you could teach me better hand to hand combat? None of the other commissioned men are a patch on you.'

Porthos looked back up, a slight glint in his eye.

'Alright,' he said.

MMMM

_A few weeks later…_

'I want you to know,' said Treville as they rode back to the garrison side by side. 'That you were not chosen to be the first man commissioned because of anything other than your worthiness for it. Your loyalty and dedication, it puts some of the other commissioned men to shame.'

Porthos could not help smiling, 'thank you, Captain,' he said.

'I expect that pauldron to be marked and scratched in no time,' remarked the Captain with a nod towards Porthos' shoulder.

Porthos glanced at the pauldron, he could not help feeling proud of his accomplishment. The King may have given him his commission, but the Captain was the one that had put him forward. And Porthos knew that Treville was sincere in his words. He would not have put him forward for his commission unless he was ready for it.

They turned into the garrison to be met by several of the cadets and commissioned men who each took a turn to congratulate Porthos. The cadets were in awe, the commissioned men approving. Since the departure of Deschamps and his gang of hangers-on, the atmosphere around the garrison had improved greatly. Porthos had felt more at home, more welcomed, he knew Aramis had played a part in that. The Musketeer had spent some time telling a rapt group of cadets how Porthos had saved him from being killed. Aramis' storytelling and embellishment of the truth had to be frequently downplayed by Porthos much to the listening men's amusement.

Aramis was sitting at the table outside the mess watching the men taking their turn to congratulate Porthos. Porthos glanced at him and rolled his eyes causing his friend to laugh. Once the pleasantries with the other men were out of the way Porthos wandered over to Aramis who slowly got to his feet and sauntered around the table before grabbing Porthos in an embrace.

'Welcome to the King's Musketeers, my friend,' he said, his smile lighting up his face as he spoke. 'I have wine. The best - that I can afford - for our newest commissioned man.'

Porthos tilted his head, 'what do you want?'

'Another lesson from you. Not right now, I'm still bruised from not dodging your last lesson well enough. But soon…'

He glanced around and lowered his voice.

'And I've prepared another lesson for you…'

Porthos nodded, his smile faltering a little.

They had been finding time to sit quietly several times each week since Aramis had offered to teach him to read and write. It had gone well to start with, but as they had progressed Porthos had started to feel he was not picking it up quickly enough. He wished he could understand what Aramis was teaching him. Aramis had changed tactics several times in his methods. Some ways worked better than others. His friend was always patient and seemed to know when to end the lesson or move onto another topic.

Aramis pulled a small slim book from his pocket and slid it across the table to Porthos who looked at the cover, trying to read the words. He found that he understood them, he looked up at Aramis.

'Something for you to do on your own, you're ready for it. Just a few lines, any words you can't work out...write them down, in your neatest handwriting.'

Porthos looked at a few of the pages, he took a deep breath and nodded.

'I will try.'

'That's all I ask,' said Aramis. 'I know you're finding it difficult. But you'll get there.'

A shadow fell across the table. Both Musketeers looked up. Treville smiled.

'I have a little job for you two,' he said.

MMMM

Aramis knew Treville had chosen them for the 'little job' deliberately. The astute Captain had probably already noticed that they had become good friends in the weeks since the incident with Deschamps. And Treville had probably guessed that he was helping Porthos to better himself in some way.

The job the Captain had sent them on involved taking some papers to a Comte several hours ride outside of Paris. They were to deliver the papers and return. But they would not be able to do the journey in one day. They had to camp on the return. A perfect chance for Aramis to help Porthos with his writing.

'This will do', said Aramis, pointing to a clearing.

They turned the horses off the road and walked them to the far edge of the small open area. Aramis took the reins of both horses and tied them to a low hanging branch. Porthos wandered off to collect wood for a fire as Aramis took the saddles from the horses and checked his weapons.

'I'll catch us some dinner,' he said, holding up his gun.

Porthos nodded, 'good luck,' he said.

Aramis walked off. He glanced back once in time to see Porthos pulling the book from his saddlebag. His friend had been quiet on the journey. Aramis had guessed he felt as though he was not learning as quickly as he should have been, Aramis decided he would have to talk to his friend and offer him some reassurance.

Less than thirty minutes later Aramis returned to their camp. Porthos had lit the fire and even unrolled their bedrolls. He was sat cross-legged, the book resting on his knee, one finger tracing the lines, his lips forming the words as he reached them.

Aramis did not say anything, merely settled close to the fire to prepare their food. He noticed that Porthos had already set some potatoes in a pot ready. Aramis was pleased that they did not need to expressly say what was needed of the other.

'How are you getting on?' he finally asked.

Porthos did not respond for a few seconds.

'Alright,' was the eventual, non-committal answer.

Aramis started to cut the rabbit up for their stew.

'What is the book about?' he asked as conversationally as he could.

Another pause.

'You should know you gave it to me.'

Aramis sighed, 'you don't have to struggle in silence, Porthos. If we need to slow down, we can…'

Porthos did not respond, he stared at the book.

'You still want me to teach you... don't you?'

His friend finally looked up, 'yes,' he said, 'it's just harder than I thought it would be.'

Aramis was relieved, he had been worried Porthos did not want his help anymore.

Porthos noticed the look on Aramis' face, 'sorry,' he said, 'it's just frustrating.'

'Well, put the book away for now. We'll eat, then read.'

They ate and drank, talking about the Comte they had visited. They swapped war stories and tales of some of the awful food they had eaten over the years.

As Aramis finished tidying the plates and pots away Porthos picked the book up and started reading again. Aramis settled beside him watching the finger following the lines, listening to the quietly spoken words. Whenever Porthos paused, Aramis encouraged him to work out what the word was. They progressed slowly until a passage of several words in a row that caused the new Musketeer problems. The frustration in his friend eventually spilt over, Porthos slammed the book shut and threw it down before scrambling to his feet and walking away. Aramis watched him go for a few seconds before following him. Porthos had his back to him, but Aramis could see the tension in his friend's shoulders. He reached out a hand to rest on Porthos' arm. With speed, the frustrated man turned and lashed out at Aramis who managed to dodge the punch. He stared a Porthos as he took a couple of steps back. Porthos looked equally as shocked.

'Sorry', apologised Porthos. 'I don't know why I did that. I was so annoyed with myself.'

'Clearly,' said Aramis warily.

They looked at each other for a few seconds before Porthos spoke again.

'But you reacted well…'

Aramis did not understand.

'You moved instinctively.' pointed out Porthos before he smiled. 'My lessons for you are obviously better than yours for me.'

They both grinned, the tension fizzled out.

'You feel better for trying to punch your teacher?' asked Aramis as they returned to the centre of the clearing.

Porthos grabbed his arm, 'have you been using my fist-fighting lessons as a way to help me. To get my frustrations out?'

Aramis could not help looking a bit guilty at being found out. He nodded once; he did not see the point in lying. Porthos looked at him for a few seconds, before nodding his approval.

'I guess it works both ways. We're both getting something out of it.'

MMMM


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three **

Porthos continued his lessons with Aramis. The reading and writing were done privately but Aramis was taking great delight in the fist-fighting lessons in the garrison yard. The other men were practically queuing up for their own lessons. Or to challenge Porthos to a friendly fight.

After his outburst during their mission, Aramis had taken the lessons back a few steps which had annoyed Porthos at first but as the pieces fell into place, he realised his friend had been correct. Taking the lessons, a little slower had helped him. He was able to read the book Aramis had given him fairly well, only getting stuck on a few words but able to work out the context well enough that he could worry about the words when he next saw his teacher.

Porthos walked through the city streets as he mulled over the last few paragraphs of the book. There were a couple of words that had confused him, he was sure he had worked them out from the context of the paragraph they were in, but the spelling of the words made no sense to him. He would discuss the difficulties he was having with Aramis that evening, something that no longer caused him embarrassment.

He skirted around a couple of small boys who were busy picking up some dropped apples, he smiled remembering doing similar things when he was young. As he looked back up he saw some Red Guardsmen looking suspicious. Two were looking up and down the road before stepping into a house that Porthos knew was abandoned. He also knew that any strange activity from Red Guardsmen was worth investigating. He crossed the road and slipped into the alleyway alongside the abandoned house. Porthos knew there were enough holes in the crumbling wall along the alleyway that he would be able to listen and probably watch what was going on without being seen.

'Where's Fabron?' asked a voice that was all too familiar to Porthos.

The images of Deschamps and his gang tormenting him a few weeks before sprang to the front of his mind. He knew the men had managed to get themselves into the Red Guard a few days after they were dismissed from the Musketeers. The Cardinal and Red Guard captain seemed to approve of their elitist ways and obviously had no issue with the fact that they had attacked a fellow soldier.

'Fabron's got caught with guard duty. He said we should start without him or we'd miss the opportunity,' said Simon, one of the men who was more of a follower in the group.

Porthos managed to silently move to a better spot so that he could see the men in the crumbling building as well as hear them. Deschamps was leaning against a rickety table, whilst the other men stood around pulling off their distinctive red cloaks and piling them in a corner of the room.

'And where is our target?' asked Deschamps.

'He's on guard duty at the moment as well,' continued Simon. 'I know he'll be visiting one of his ladies-'

Deschamps laughed, 'that would have been the undoing of him.'

The other men laughed. Porthos wondered who the Guardsmen were talking about. He had his suspicions.

'And I know what route he'll take to get there,' finished Simon.

The other men nodded their approval.

'Are we really going to kill him?' asked Chevrolet.

Porthos almost reacted to the statement. It had not taken a great deal of thought on his part to work out that the target of the Guardsmen was Aramis.

'Yes, we are,' replied Deschamps. 'We would have all been Musketeer's if it hadn't been for him making friends with that half breed. And he shouldn't be a Musketeer anyway. Neither of them is noble, are they? We're doing the regiment a favour.'

'Perhaps we can take out Porthos as well?' suggested Chevrolet.

Deschamps smiled, 'oh yes, he'll get his turn…'

The men all chuckled.

'But first, we're going to deal with Aramis. We could just shoot him or run him through...but where would the fun be in that!'

More chuckles followed.

'I bet Fabron would like to get that third kick in,' said Chevrolet.

Deschamps stepped forward, 'we can't wait. Jean, leave Fabron a note. He knows we're meeting here, but he wasn't there when we discussed where we were going to take the bastard after we've grabbed him. He'll catch us up.'

Porthos remained absolutely still, Deschamps was looking in his direction, he knew the man could not see him, but Porthos was not going to take the risk. Aramis' life was in danger. He knew he could not take on four Red Guardsmen on his own, he had to let them leave. He watched Jean writing his note, folding up the paper and propping it up on the table as the other men pulled on plain cloaks and filed out of the room by a different door. Porthos knew the men would be out of sight by the time he had made it through the building or circled around and reached the door they were disappearing from. His only hope was the note that had been left behind.

MMMM

Aramis had finally been relieved of his duty. The Musketeer that had appeared to replace him apologised saying there had been a mix-up and two men had ended up at the same guard post. Aramis told the man he owed him a drink before slapping him good-naturedly on the back and making his way from the palace.

He hurried through the streets. His mistress' time was limited. And he wanted to make the most of it. They had gradually built up a good relationship. He hoped she might discard her affair with the wealthy minister she was also seeing in favour of him one day, but he knew she earned special privileges being the mistress of a rich man.

He wondered what she would make of the impressive bruise he was sporting on his side. Porthos had managed to trick him during their last lesson and land a hefty blow. The incident had caused cries of delight from the watching men as Aramis had to admit to still having things to learn from his friend.

Two men fell into step behind him, Aramis was instantly alert, they were walking a little too close for comfort. When he glanced back, he realised they were wearing hooded cloaks which were definitely not a good sign. As another man appeared in front of him in similar attire Aramis knew he was in trouble. He tried to turn into a side alleyway that he knew was narrow and would force the men to walk in single file. As he turned, he was confronted by a fourth man, who already had a short, stout stick raised, bringing the club down on his head. Aramis felt an explosion of pain before the darkness engulfed him.

MMMM

Porthos moved back to the front of the abandoned house, he tried the door handle, a little surprised to find it unlocked. After a quick glance along the road, he did not want to be surprised by Fabron appearing, Porthos stepped into the house. The room the Red Guardsmen had met in was chilly and damp. Other than the rickety table and the pile of cloaks in the corner, the room was empty. He picked up the note from the table. He unfolded it and looked at the scrawled writing. He shook his head realising it was going to be harder than he had first thought to read the note. Aramis had a neat hand when he wrote things for him to read or copy. The spider web of words in front of him made no sense.

He thought for a moment about trying to find someone on the street to read the note, but then he would have to explain why he needed the note read and whoever he asked might lie or laugh at him. A King's Musketeer who could not read would likely cause mirth and slow down his progress. He looked back at the note.

Porthos thought about the reading lessons with Aramis. He knew what the context of the note would be. It would be directions. He started to pick out letters and then words. It took him longer than he would have liked but he started to piece it together. The first address was where they were going to attack Aramis. Porthos knew it was on the way from the Palace to the home of his mistress. From what Deschamps had said they were going to take Aramis to another location to assault and kill him. Porthos continued to work his way through the note.

MMMM

As the darkness receded Aramis opened his eyes slowly. He could not help moaning as he moved his head. The next few seconds were very uncomfortable. He felt himself being moved rapidly to stand, hands on his body pushing him back into a wall. He realised his weapons and doublet had been taken from him as the stone wall scratched through his shirt. It seemed to take forever for his vision to stop spinning and the feeling of nausea to subside. As his focus returned, he found himself looking at Deschamps who was grinning, a wicked glint in his eyes.

'I was a bit worried I'd hit you too hard and you wouldn't come around before we had to begin,' he said.

Aramis managed to look around him, they were standing in a small dank courtyard. The building surrounding him were ramshackle, unmaintained and probably not lived in by anyone who would care about a Musketeer being assaulted in their courtyard. Three men were holding him against the wall whilst a fourth was standing a few yards away watching along the narrow gap in the walls that would lead to the road. Aramis knew that shouting for help would not bring any. He was on his own.

Chevrolet stepped back a few paces at the same time that Jean did, leaving only Deschamps pinning him to the wall. Aramis took advantage and pushed him away. Deschamps laughed and stepped back several paces. Simon, who was watching the gap in the wall was also acting as an effective barrier to any easy escape. Aramis looked back at Deschamps who was advancing slowly towards him, his fisted hands held up ready to fight. Aramis knew he was at a disadvantage he felt weakened from the previous assault and the head injury would slow his reactions.

Deschamps circled him, Aramis moved to remain in a position to keep him in sight. Chevrolet and Jean moved further back.

Aramis allowed Deschamps to move in, he watched the man carefully, despite struggling to remain focused. The Red Guardsman's shoulder dropped as he went in for his first hit, Aramis saw the move and managed to turn his body enough for the strike to miss him. As quickly as he could, he returned the favour, managing to hit Deschamps in the chest with enough force to knock the air from him. Aramis enjoyed a moment of satisfaction as the Red Guardsman stumbled back a couple of paces.

'Let me have a go,' said Chevrolet from the side of the courtyard.

'No,' growled Deschamps as he got his breath back.

They circled around again. Aramis kept all his focus on the man in front of him. It was apparent that, as their ringleader, he was calling the shots and wanted to fight on his own. Aramis allowed him to make the move, knowing he would be too slow to attack, his best chance was to remain defensive and hope to get lucky hits in. But then he would still have to face the other three men. Aramis did not think he could manage four fights in his current state.

Deschamps tried to reach out to grab his shoulders, Aramis stepped back a couple of paces, finding himself flat against the wall. The moment's distraction was enough for Deschamps to reach out again and grab his shoulders, pulling him downwards as he brought his knee up at the same time. The impact of the knee to his face sent Aramis stumbling to the side and crashing to his knees. He knew it would make him too easy a target if he ended up on the ground. He managed to reach out for the wall and stop himself from falling forward. The struggle to get to his feet was frustrating. He was expecting Deschamps to strike him again at any moment whilst he was vulnerable. When he had pushed himself up to stand, he turned towards his opponent who was watching him, his head slightly tilted, a sneer on his lips.

'Chevrolet,' said Deschamps as he walked back a few paces.

The broad-shouldered man smiled and stepped forward. Aramis turned to face him.

'What do you… hope to achieve?' Aramis managed to ask.

'Your end,' replied Deschamps.

Aramis knew then that it was kill or be killed, and the odds were very much against him.

MMMM

It had taken him longer than he would have liked to work his way through the second address. Porthos moved to the door pulling it open, he was not entirely surprised to find Fabron on the other side of it. The short, well built, man stared at him for a few seconds before pushing him back into the room firmly. Porthos allowed the man to move him to the centre of the room, allowed him to think he had the upper hand.

He did not.

'Wished I'd had my chance with you before,' said Fabron. 'I guess you've worked out what we're going to do to your friend?'

Fabron gestured to the note in Porthos' left hand.

'Do you want me to read the note for you, it's meant for me after all?'

Fabron squared up to Porthos taking another step forward; which was exactly what he wanted the man to do. As the gunshot echoed around the room the look on Fabron's face was satisfying. Fabron had only seen him holding the note, he had not paid attention to Porthos' other hand, the one holding the gun. Porthos had never enjoyed killing people, but he knew that Aramis' life was at stake and he did not have time to deal with Fabron in a fistfight, he knew they were nearly evenly matched, it would have taken too long and he might have been unlucky and picked up an injury. The man had murderous intent, Porthos felt that shooting him was justified.

He left the body where it fell and quickly made his way from the house towards the second location on the note. One of the poorer areas of the city where a man being attacked and murdered would probably not draw much attention if it did not interfere with the day to day lives of the locals.

Not wishing to exhaust himself, Porthos did not sprint to the location. He knew he needed to be able to deal with any number of scenarios when he reached the address. What he found was not the most horrendous scenario he had come up with. What he found was Aramis managing to fight back. Although he doubted his friend would last for much longer.

MMMM


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four **

As Porthos had turned into the courtyard he had been confronted by Simon, the slightest of Deschamps gang. Porthos had not been put too much trouble to neutralise the Guardsman. As Simon collapsed to the ground, Porthos moved forward to better see what was happening.

Jean was trying to punch Aramis who was able to read the moves from the incompetent Guardsman and dodge out of the way. His friend managed to land a decent punch to the man's jaw sending him careening back several steps into the corner of the courtyard.

Porthos could see that Aramis had not managed to dodge all the punches and kicks that had been aimed at him. His shirt was splashed with blood from a head wound which was bleeding down his face, probably impeding his vision as well. The sleeve of his shirt was ripped revealing deep grazes and cuts to his shoulder and arm, Porthos suspected Aramis had been pushed into the rough stone wall by one of his attackers.

Chevrolet, a reddening to his cheek showing where he had been on the receiving end of a punch, moved towards Aramis who was panting and blinking. But Aramis was still watching. The ailing Musketeer was doing everything he could to keep fighting. Chevrolet gave himself away. Porthos could see where the punch was going to go before, he had started to move his arm. And Aramis had seen it as well, despite his state of health. He was not quick enough to completely duck out of the way. The strike knocked him on the side of the head causing him to stumble to the side, falling to one knee as he went. Chevrolet moved in with a swift kick, knocking Aramis fully to the floor on his back.

Porthos did not wait, he knew he could not, he raised his already drawn gun and fired, hitting Chevrolet in the head. Knowing he could not help Aramis until the other men had been dealt with Porthos forced himself to look away and concentrate on Deschamps and Jean.

Jean, his eyes wide staring at the body of Chevrolet, hesitated long enough for Porthos to grab him and throw him into the wall, he smacked his head on the stone before crumpling to the ground.

Deschamps was more alert, he rounded on Porthos, murder in his eyes. Porthos flipped his spent gun, ready to use it as a club. Deschamps pulled his main gauche, passing it to his right hand. There was not enough room in the small courtyard to use a sword efficiently. Deschamps came at him in a lunging motion, Porthos deflected the blade and punched him in one swift move.

He managed to grab Deschamps before he stumbled back to far. Deschamps tried to bring the parrying dagger up, Porthos grabbed his wrist and squeezed as hard as he could. Deschamps, the pain evident on his face, howled in pain before pulling his head back and butting Porthos who was forced back a few steps.

Porthos blinked a few times and watched warily as Deschamps swapped his main gauche to his left hand, his right arm held across his chest, his wrist already showing signs of the bruising he had inflicted.

Rather than taking another charge towards him, Deschamps moved quickly towards Aramis, who was trying to push the body of Chevrolet off him. He refocused on the advancing Red Guardsman. Porthos rushed forward, grabbing Deschamps from behind, swinging him around and leaving him sprawled on the floor. When Deschamps did not try to get up Porthos paused. Deschamps had been so determined to get to Aramis that he could not understand why the man would give up. He walked forward a few paces. Deschamps had landed with his left arm trapped underneath him. As Porthos reached him, Deschamps twisted onto his back, flinging a small dagger towards him.

Porthos had anticipated the attack, he shifted to the side and down to his knee in one smooth movement. The small dagger spun passed him. The three hard punches that he dealt Deschamps saw him slump back to the ground and not move again.

After spending a few seconds confirming to himself that Deschamps, Jean and Simon were not going to come around for some time he moved back to Aramis who was watching him.

'How did you…?'

'I'll explain later,' he said, suspecting Aramis would not take it in at that moment anyway.

Aramis nodded and went back to trying to push Chevrolet off him. Porthos pulled the body away. Aramis winced as the pressure was relieved, he eased himself onto his side and looked around the courtyard.

'They ain't waking up for a while,' said Porthos.

'Good,' replied Aramis with a pained smile. 'This seems to be your job, doesn't it?'

Porthos furrowed his brow, 'what?'

'Stopping me from getting beaten up by other soldiers.'

Porthos smiled, 'someone's got to do it.'

MMMM

'What happened to you two?' Treville asked incredulously as he walked down the stairs.

Porthos and Aramis paused on their way towards the infirmary. Aramis had been hoping to avoid answering questions about his injuries for a few hours. His head was pounding and all he really wanted to do was sit down. Or lie down.

The Captain, with his usual perception, changed his direction towards the infirmary with a gesture for the two of them to follow him. He held the door open as Porthos helped Aramis through and towards the nearest bed.

Porthos was about to move away to get water and bandages.

'No,' said Treville, 'you are staying right there.'

He pointed at a spot next to where Aramis was sat on the edge of the bed. The Musketeer dutifully sat down. They glanced at each other. Aramis realised Porthos looked a little worried.

'I'm waiting,' said the Captain, 'I can listen and collect bandages at the same time.'

Aramis watched the Captain for a few seconds before speaking.

'I was attacked-'

'I can see that,' said Treville who walked over to the window and beckoned to someone outside. 'Get some water in here, I have injured men.'

His order being carried out, Treville turned to them both. He put the bandages and cloths he had collected on the table by the bed. He sat heavily on the next bed and regarded his two Musketeers for a few seconds.

'It was Deschamps,' said Porthos. 'I saw him and his mates acting suspiciously. I overheard them saying they were going to beat Aramis to death.'

Aramis began to realise how lucky he was. Porthos had not told him how he came to be in the exact spot he was being attacked in time to save him.

Porthos continued with his explanation, 'they left a note for Fabron, to tell him where to meet them… I read the note and-'

Treville held up his hand, stopping Porthos.

'You can't read,' he said.

Aramis noticed a slight smile play across Porthos' lips.

'Aramis has been teaching me… I struggled, but I managed to work out the words.'

Treville looked at Aramis who did not know how to react.

'Aramis, why would I be annoyed that you were teaching your friend to read? It's obviously not affected his training. He still gained his commission. If you'd told me I would have ensured you had the time… it's a useful skill after all.'

'Lifesaving,' said Aramis quietly with a smile towards Porthos.

Treville shook his head with a smile of his own, 'go on Porthos. You read the note…'

'Just as I was about to leave, Fabron turned up… I had to kill him. There was no time to subdue him. Aramis' life was in danger.'

Treville nodded.

'I was nearly too late; they had already got Aramis and were beating him-'

The door to the infirmary was pushed open. One of the cadets walked in carrying two bowls of water, he set them on the table and looked towards Treville.

'That will be all, although see if you can get Serge to put some food together for these two, they'll be spending the night here.'

Aramis was about to complain when Treville looked at him with his no-nonsense stare.

'What are your injuries? And there is no point in trying to lie, Aramis, I can see you are not fit.'

'I've been punched and kicked; I think I've strained my arm when they pushed me into the wall at one point. I was knocked out for a bit-'

He was aware of Porthos twisting to look at him critically.

Treville chuckled, 'he lies. All the time, when he's injured.'

'But you looked like you were holding your own against them,' said Porthos unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

'Because you taught me to take a punch,' remarked Aramis. 'I couldn't attack them, I knew I would be too slow, all I could do was defend myself. Without your lessons, I don't think I would have lasted anywhere near as long.'

Aramis got the impression Porthos was trying to hide a hint of pride, either for himself or his pupil.

'Thank you,' said Aramis.

Treville rose from the bed opposite, 'let's get you both sorted out then. The sooner you are both back to full health the sooner you can buy Porthos dinner as a thank you for saving your life.'

As Treville helped them to deal with their injuries Aramis noticed that Porthos had a slight look of concern on his face. He glanced at Treville who had also noticed his Musketeer looked worried. Porthos realised he was being observed as rung out the cloth he was using to wipe the blood from Aramis' face as Aramis pulled off his shirt.

'I was wondering if there'd be any comeback for me killing Fabron and Chevrolet?'

'Why would there be?' asked Aramis.

Porthos did not respond.

Treville handed Porthos a bandage and indicated the cut to Aramis' head.

'You stopped them from killing Aramis,' said Treville. 'You were provoked.'

'What if that's not believed…'

Aramis rested his hand over Porthos' for a few seconds, 'why wouldn't they believe you? … Because you're not a noble?'

Porthos looked away.

'Do you still have the note?' asked Treville.

Porthos reached into his doublet and handed the crumpled paper to the Captain who read it.

'This is your proof,' he said. 'Did you read it all?'

Porthos looked a little embarrassed, 'Once I'd worked out which bits were the addresses, I didn't think I had the time to try to work it all out…'

'It says, "Once we've dealt with the bastard Musketeer we'll deal with the mongrel." … they were going to kill both of you, and they've admitted that in this note. You have nothing to worry about, Porthos.'

Aramis was pleased to see his friend looking a little placated. He blinked a couple of times before realising it was his turn to be scrutinised. Treville finished cleaning the grazes to his shoulder before pushing him to lie on the bed as Porthos moved out of the way.

'Rest,' he said before turning to Porthos. 'This will not be the only time you have to come to the aid of a brother. It won't be the only time that you wonder if you have done the right thing. But know this, we will always back you up. You are a brother Musketeer and we stand together.'

The End.

**Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it. **


End file.
